


Cent

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Accents, M/M, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy, Vignette, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 17:14:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chekov’s voice over the comm system does things to Bones’ head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cent

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: A fill for anon's "McCoy jacks off to the sound of Chekov's voice over the com system" prompt on the [Star Trek ID Kink Meme](http://strek-id-kink.livejournal.com/1695.html?thread=97695#t97695).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Leonard’s in a private room when the comm opens up, sparked on a computer screen to his right. Chekov’s cute face, flickering in and out, surrounded by flashing lights. Some new distressing news, of course. Isn’t it always that? Leonard falls back into a wheeled chair for the heck of it—he might as well hear it in here; too much commotion out in the rest of sickbay. Was it too much to ask for five minutes of peace and quiet?

What Chekov’s saying isn’t really important. Leonard leans his head back on the edge of the chair, not listening, but letting the words flow over him. The gentle glide of Chekov’s tone, Standard, but not quite perfect. He has trouble with his ‘v’s—an adorable issue that shouldn’t ever be corrected. The mispronunciations put a smirk on Leonard’s lips, and he tosses the medical tricorder in his hands to the table, letting his arms rest in his lap. He closes his eyes and _hears_ Chekov’s breath, imagining it in person. 

If he were on the bridge instead, or, better yet, if Chekov were down here in sickbay. In the little private room. Perhaps strapped down to Leonard’s exam table, pretty, pink lips stretched wide. Leonard would still hear whatever’s so vital it has to be broadcast ship wide, of course. He’d let Chekov regurgitate the entire speech, but he’d work while he hears it, sticking a file down on Chekov’s tongue, checking the back of his tight, wet throat. Leonard would listen to Chekov’s pulse, just for a chance to get closer, and he'd let Chekov’s warm breath ghost over him. Perhaps he’d even put a tube in Chekov’s mouth and make him suck it—test his suction and lung capacity.

Then he’d go back to listening—recline in a chair and pull out his PADD, jotting notes for each of Chekov’s words. Chekov would eagerly tell him everything, naturally, not only the plan and that status but _everything_. He’d stutter over words and flush in certain places and struggle giving access codes, his thick, Russian accent rolling all down Leonard’s body like the water of a fresh spring. He’d lean closer and listen, palm pressing down on his cock. 

He’s doing it, now, hand resting on his crotch. Hips subtly lifting into it. Chekov’s still talking, and that’s what drives Leonard on—makes him unzip his pants, turned away from the closed door, and he pulls out his cock. Could he fit it in that tiny mouth, he wonders? Inside such a young boy? Chekov’s barely legal. He probably doesn’t know how to suck cock properly. Leonard’s a good teacher. But then, if Chekov was gagged on cock, he wouldn’t be able to purr his announcement so sweetly, like honey...

Leonard groans and drops his head forward, chin resting on his collarbone, hand stroking up and down. A bit faster and a bit harder, while Chekov forms each word with careful precision. He speaks a little quickly: the energy of youth. But he tries to be professional. Keeps his voice steady. Leonard _is_ a professional, and he can hear the slight tremor in it, and he imagines that hum around his cock. 

When he’s too worked up to last, Leonard bites his lip, scrunching his face up to stifle his groan—he doesn’t want to drown out Chekov’s sounds, far more seductive than anything he could ever make. Leonard spills into his hand while Chekov slides past another ‘v’—the perfect note to go out on. 

The communication ends. The computer flicks off again. Leonard’s breathing heavily, just coming down. He takes a minute, then reaches for a folded towel under the cupboard to wipe himself off. The good thing about sickbay is there’re always supplies around. 

Tucking himself back in, Leonard stands out of his chair. Time to go back to work like nothing ever happened. 

...Until the next comm, anyway.


End file.
